


The Blood Ruby

by sherlockfic



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Vampire Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockfic/pseuds/sherlockfic
Summary: A Break in at a clinic occurs, and shortly after two of their regular abroad working doctors are murdered in a dark way that leaves Sherlock guessing. As the case develops, darker elements start to arise.





	

 

The Blood Ruby

Prologue  
The dim lights on the streets of London barely shone through the thick mist that drifted through the city. The footsteps of the few people that wandered the night made no sound, giving the night an eerie, dreamy feeling. On the corner of a street, in a local clinic, a figure moves through the shadows, silently and swiftly. Down the hallway, in one of the offices at the far end of the clinic, the figure searches for something. Rifling through drawers, cabinets and files, its movements get more agitated, as if it can’t find what it’s looking for. The figure leaves the office, slips through the hallway into another part of the clinic, and back to the office. With quick movements, it leaves a message, and disappears. The clinic is still, and as quiet as the night outside.

 

Chapter 1  
At 221B Baker Street there was a loud thump followed by a sigh. Sherlock looked intensely at Dr John Watson who looked back at him in the same manner.  
¨What?¨, Watson asked.  
Sherlock replied with a mumbling voice, distracted, or just having less care to give a clear answer.  
“This isn’t about that last case is it?” said Watson.  
“The case, THE CASE,” he replied. “No, that is gone, solved and stored. But look at us sitting here idling without any what so ever criminal to pursue. Really fascinating, one could believe the entirety of London became law abiding citizens in an effort to keep me locked in here collecting dust. No, the police have probably been having full up on some wild goose hunt, not that I am surprised to say.”  
He took the Times paper right next to him and skimmed through it before letting out a sigh.  
He then aggressively reached for his violin before putting it back just as fast, and continued his murmurs in his armchair.  
After have gotten, what Watson thought to be, a glint in his eye, Sherlock reached for the laptop next to him , and started to press the keys frantically, with the usual absorbedness characterizing him.  
He revealed a smile on his face.  
“Wait, isn’t that MY laptop?” exclaimed Watson.  
“Correct.” Sherlock replied hastily, without taking his gaze and concentration away off the laptop  
Screen.  
“Ok, that is not fine.” Watson replied irritatedly, getting up from his chair in an effort to retake his possession.  
“Wait.” said Sherlock sternly, putting out a straight arm as to hold the laptops rescuer on an arm length distance.  
´We have got a case,¨ he said smirking. for the first time looking up from the screen in front of him, followed by turning entirely towards John.  
“Anything interesting?” Watson replied interested, momentarily interrupted in his thought of reclaiming the laptop.  
Sherlock hastened to the coat hanger, grabbed his coat and without looking back said, “I’ll brief you on the way.”. Without stopping he got down, together with Watson who had just barely caught up, to the street right outside the apartment and waved in a cab.  
¨Take us to the Crimson Heart clinic,¨ Sherlock told the cabbie while leaning enthusiastically over the seat

As they walked into the clinic, they saw a woman standing in the reception. Sherlock approached her, glanced quickly at her name tag and said “Hello, Abigail. Sherlock Holmes, I am looking for Dr. Lincoln.” Abigail looked up and said flatly, “He is down the hallway on the left. Second door on your right.”.  
The two men walk down the hallway and knocked on the door that stood ajar. The man sitting behind his desk looked up with a smile on his face. “Ah, Sherlock Holmes, How are you?”. “It must have been almost ten years since we last worked together” he continued. Sherlock looked at him with no expression on his face. “This is my colleague, Dr. John Watson. So, what is it you need of us?” asked Sherlock using a rather impatient tone.  
The doctor told the two gentlemen to follow him into another office, and so they did. The doctor sat in his chair and said “ This clinic has recently had a break in right before the weekend, particularly in one office”. He looked at Sherlock and said “I want you to find out who broke into the office”.  
“Did they steal anything?” asked Watson.  
“No, nothing was stolen, which is strange. However, whoever broke in, left a message.” said the doctor.  
Sherlock, Watson and the doctor entered the office. There was papers laying everywhere, the drawers were opened and there was a table lamp on the floor. “If you look from here, you can see the message” said the doctor. Sherlock walked towards the doctor by the desk and turned around. The message was a symbol that Sherlock had never seen before. “The message is only visible when you sit behind the desk.” said Watson. “Yes, and it is undoubtedly meant for Dr Terrance Chamberlain”. Sherlock replied.  
“Speaking of,” said Dr Lincoln, “He hasn’t been in today. He came in before the weekend and reported the break in, but left immediately afterwards.”  
As Sherlock was heading out of the office he asked “Has anyone entered this office after the break in”. The doctor followed him out and said “Yes, his secretary, Abigail. Sherlock turned around and without a word, started walking towards a desk close to the same room they were in.  
“You must be Doctor Terrance Chamberlain’s secretary” said Sherlock. Abigail nodded. “What can you tell us about Doctor Chamberlain” asked Sherlock.  
“He is a hardworking man, very kind, and always thinking about others. He never skips a day at work, this is so unlike him. Actually I’m quite worried.” she said, clearly upset.  
“Would you mind, giving us the doctor’s address” asked Sherlock. She wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock and Watson hailed a cab on the street, and jumped in. 

 

Chapter 2

“Take us to 13b Grafton Rd.” Sherlock told the driver, and they were off, driving down the countless narrow streets the sprawl through London.  
As they drove through the city, Sherlock grew impatient, even though the drive there wasn’t particularly far. As they hopped out of the car, Sherlock grumbled to himself, “These new cabbies...one would think after their rigorous training, that they would know this city like the back of their hand, but alas, it seems it is not enough.”  
“How in the world could you tell he was a new cabbie?” Watson asked incredulously.  
“Quite simple, Watson” Sherlocked started, “First of all, the lamination on his cabbie license was perfectly new and lustrous.”  
“But it could have been lost and replaced.” Watson interjected.  
“A possibility, of course.” Sherlock replied, “But tell me, what are the chances of losing a licence that sits in its holder all day?”  
“Well, when you put it like that, I would have to say that it would be quite the feat.” Watson admitted. “But, something tells me that is not your only clue.”  
“Quite right you are!” Sherlock exclaimed.  
“Not only is his license fresh, but on our way here I noticed that he took a turn that an experienced cabbie would not have.”  
“And why is that?” asked Watson.  
“Well, a cabbie’s training happens to involve driving through London on a scooter, learning its streets by heart for two whole years. Haven’t you ever noticed that they never have a GPS in the front with them?”  
“Actually, I haven’t.” said Watson. “But of course you have.”  
“Indeed,” mumbled Sherlock, and continued, “The wrong turn he took just so happens to be extra busy at this time of day, and for a scooter, would actually have been a shortcut to our destination, due to it being easy to navigate between cars on the narrow street.”  
“But with a car, it is not so much of a short cut, but a delay, as it was a single file line we had to queue in.”  
“This, in addition to his proud new licence, leads me to believe that he only recently made the transition from scooter to car, and as old habits die hard, he took the turn he normally would have at this time of day.”  
Sherlock looked pleased as usual, happy to use his deduction skills.  
“It is only logical.” said Watson. And with that they had reached the front door of the apartment.

Watson and Sherlock found Chamberlain’s button in the list of names and pressed the button.  
“As I expected, no answer.” said Sherlock. “We’ll have to ask one of the neighbours to let us in.”  
Sherlock rang the bell over Chamberlain’s name and a woman’s voice answer.  
“Hello? Who is it?”  
“Good day!” Sherlock answered. “My name is Detective Inspector Lestrade from the Scotland Yard. We’re looking for a man who lives in the room directly under yours. You see, he hasn’t been to work in three days, and of course his fellow colleagues are concerned. Naturally, the first place we will seek him is at his flat. Would you mind letting us in?” Sherlock held up Lestrade’s badge to the small camera, and with that, they heard the door buzz and click open.  
“Still milking that for all you can, I see.” Watson snorted.  
Sherlock and Watson walked up the flight of stairs to the 6th floor where Chamberlain lived. Sherlock tried the knob to Chamberlain’s door, but it was locked.  
“We’ll have to get the landlord to open the doors with his keys. I’ll go ask our friendly neighbour on the floor above us.”

***********  
The landlord arrived shortly after Sherlock phoned him. He had actually been on his way to the apartment when he answered Holmes’ call. He had been concerned about a sudden and and steady spike in electricity usage, so he was going to check on the building to make sure that nothing was wrong.

He came up the stairs, slightly out of breath and pulled a big ring, with what must have been 50 keys on it, out of his overalls. Without the slightest hesitation he took one of the keys and slid it into the lock and opened the door.  
“Mr Chamberlain?” Watson called out. There was no answer. The men stepped into the flat.  
“Well, I think we’ve solved your electricity mystery.” Sherlocked said in a tone that was both humorous and serious.  
Every single light in the room was lit, as well as the television, although there was no sound playing. As they walked through the rooms Sherlock gave a grunt of disapproval. It was messy; there were empty pizza boxes scattered across the flat, and the air was stuffy. The windows were closed and the curtains were drawn. The men came to the main bedroom, and Sherlock tried the handle, but it was locked. The landlord took out his keys and open the lock again.  
“It would perhaps be in your best interest if you stayed out here.” Sherlock said to the landlord, “There could be unpleasantries inside.”Sherlock and Watson stepped inside.  
The lights were all on in this room, and the curtains drawn, but the air was not as stuffy. One of the windows was locked into a slightly opened position.  
On the bed, lay the body of Terrance Chamberlain.  
“Watson, take a look at him, and tell me what you think.” said Sherlock. Watson went to the man, and Sherlock started to prowl around the room, inspecting intently, and searching for any trace of a lead he could find.  
“He’s cold...quite clammy. I would say he’s been dead for no more than 24 hours.” Watson said.  
“Interesting.” murmured Sherlock. “Especially since he’s been missing for three days…”  
“He also has a bottle of Lorazepam in his hand. Fatal overdose is the first thing that comes to mind.” Watson said.  
“Yes, definitely a possibility...but keep inspecting Watson, I’m sure there’s more.” Sherlock replied, “I’m going to call Lestrade, inform me of anything else you find.”

 

**********

The Scotland Yard had arrived and they were busy doing their usual routine.  
“Well this seems like a pretty obvious case of suicide.” said Lestrade, “The flat’s a mess, it was locked, no signs of a break-in, it looks like a man who’s been cooped up, obviously feeling quite depressed, and coincidentally, he’s got a bottle of antidepressants in his cold dead hands.”  
“I wouldn’t think so fast Lestrade,” Sherlock said quickly, “That is the conclusion you have based off of what you want to see, and you are ignoring the rest.”  
“Is that so?” Lestrade said, offended. “And what other evidence do you have?”  
“Upon inspecting the flat and Chamberlain’s room, I found footprints near the window. These footprints were bigger than the Chamberlain’s, and were also not of the same pattern as any of his shoes in the entrance.” Sherlock said. “In addition to that, these footprints were only found by the window and leading up to the bead, and not anywhere else in the room or the entire flat for that matter.”  
Watson chimed in as well. “I must add that upon inspection, I also found two very small puncture wounds on the side of his neck. Judging by the color and texture of his skin, I would have to say that blood loss is a possible cause of death too.”  
“If that’s true, then where is all the blood?” Lestrade asked, sneering.  
“Now you are asking the right questions! Sherlock cried, “A man is found dead in his apartment, doors locked, but there are tracks from other people in his room. Blood loss is highly possible, yet there is no blood! And finally, one would assume that the day his electricity spiked was the day he died, yet my medical colleague here asserts that he has been dead for no less than a day!”  
Sherlock paced around the room as he spoke. “This looks like a man who was scared. A man who didn’t want to go outside. Clearly, there is something else we are missing. Not everything adds up. I am not sure of this, but I think it is a high possibility that you will find some interesting things when you perform the autopsy.”  
Lestrade look at Sherlock, open his mouth to say something, stopped, and closed it again.  
“I’ll let you know what I find once it’s done.” He said

 

Chapter 3  
Once Watson and Sherlock were done at the crime scene they hailed a cab back to the apartment on Baker Street. The pair travelled in silence while Sherlock looked visibly annoyed. Once they had walked up the steps and closed the door behind them Sherlock slammed his fists into the kitchen counter.  
“How could they possibly believe that it is a suicide” Sherlock said sarcastically ?  
Watson did not reply to the comment.  
“How could they ignore all the peculiar signs?” Sherlock went on.  
Watson replied, “I agree, but we have no proof of a murder either.”  
“As Lestrade said, the doors were locked and there was no sign of a break in, what other possible conclusion could he have come to?” he continued?  
Sherlock suddenly had a glint in his eye. He then went on to explain his idea of what could have happened.  
“What if he was followed back to the apartment and the assailant made his way into the apartment without having to break in?” Sherlock said with a smug smile.  
Watson replied, “But how would the culprit have made his way in and out of the apartment?”  
With a slight frown Sherlock answered, “I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.”  
With another jolt of energy Sherlock started pacing the room. After close to five minutes of walking back and forth between the open kitchen and the study room he finally stopped.  
After another minute of silence Sherlock finally spoke, “Only an autopsy can prove that this was not some run of the mill overdose suicide.” he said.  
Watson gave Sherlock a look of approval and said, “Do you think the puncture wounds was real cause of death?”  
Sherlock shot Watson a smile and replied, “ I’m not certain but at least we are moving in the right direction. How is it that he could have a puncture wound in such a place and not a drop of blood to be seen?”  
As Sherlock went on about the improbability of a suicide Watson started making some tea for the both of them. Once the tea had reached a boil he poured it up and set two cups and a teapot on a tray and set it on the coffee table by the armchairs in the study room. Sherlock thanked Watson and quickly resumed his rant on the case. For what seemed to be an eternity Sherlock rambled on about the threshold dosage of the pills and the peculiar puncture wounds to the victims artery that had not drawn any blood. Sherlock to Watsons annoyance had been using his laptop again, and when Watson reached for it Sherlock looked up at him with smiling eyes.  
Sherlock looked at Watson in silence for a couple seconds before saying, The autopsy report is in. 

 

Gerald Porter had been feeling quite uneasy the past few days. His fellow doctor, with whom he often travelled with to Hungary for Doctors Without Borders, was dead. Gerald had been going to the pub every day after work since Terrance’s death. He couldn’t shake this strange feeling that he had, which is why he drank everyday to rid himself of it. Today was the same. He was into his fourth pint, feeling slightly numbed, which was pleasant. Lost in his thoughts, he hardly noticed the man next to him. The man orders a pint for himself and sips it, occasionally glancing down at Gerald. Gerald finishes his pint, puts the glass on the counter and stares blankly into it.  
“Would you like another one? You seem to be in quite low spirits.” says the man next to him.  
Not even raising his head to look at the man, Gerald grunts in approval.  
“A pint for my friend here.” says the man to the bartender. He gives it to Gerald and says, “Well, I’ve got to be on my way, perhaps we’ll meet another time, when I’m in need and you can return the favor.”  
The man turns and leaves. Gerald turns his head and sees the man disappear through the door. He picks up his glass and takes a sip and puts it back down on the counter. As he looks down, his jaw drops, and his face turns pale. He stares at the napkin that his beer had been placed on. On it, written in what appeared to be fresh bright red blood, was a sign he feared and hoped to never see in his life. Gerald frantically throws his coat on and runs out the door, completely forgetting his tab at the bar.

***********

 

“So we’ve got another dead doctor?” Sherlock asked Lestrade.  
“It would appear so.” He replied.  
“And do you believe it to be suicide like the first one? Sherlock teased him.  
“No, I do not... as I’m sure you know, the autopsy report came in.”  
“And…?” Sherlock teased, even though he already knew the answer.  
“And you were right. He did have drugs in his system, but only enough to knock him out. It was the blood loss that killed him.”  
“Aha!” cried Sherlock. “That means that I’m sure we’ll find something similar in this case!”  
Lestrade began to give the two men some details. “Gerald had phoned the police. He said that he was at The Squire Pub and that he had been threatened. He ran home, and told them that he was in grave danger and that he was going to lock himself up in his attic. This was at quarter to 9 in the evening. He arrived home shortly after that, proceeded to lock his front door and his bedroom door. We had to smash them down to get in, and we found him dead in his bed. Would you two mind taking a look at him?”  
The two men went into the house and up the stairs. The attic was clean, unlike the flat of Gerald’s colleague. It was slightly chilly, as there was a cricket ball sized hole in the glass, letting in the cold fall air. On the floor, close to the window, lay the doctor’s body. Watson went to inspect him while Sherlock started to stroll around the room, looking for clues.  
Watson was stood up after only a few minutes. “This seems to be pretty straight forward. The only thing i can find, superficially that is, are two small puncture wounds on his neck. They are identical to the ones of Chamberlain. I would put money on that he died from blood loss. His skin tells it. Although the question is the same: Where is the blood?”

Sherlock was silent as he finished his analysis of the scene. He stopped at the window, look at the hole, looked at the floor and back. “This window was broken from the outside in, we just need to find...Ah there it is!” Watson picked up a rock from the floor and held it up to the hole. “Perfect fit.” He said, and continued.  
“So, we have a murder in the same manner as last, we can assume. Doors locked, lights on. We have the same boot footprints as in Chamberlain’s room, and they are also only around the window; They do not originate from the stairs, but from the window. Strange indeed…”  
“In both cases, the only possible way for anyone to have come in seems to be through the window, but in both cases that seems impossible! Chamberlains window was only slightly cracked, no more than 2 decimeters, and here there is only a hole in this window. These two have to be more than just coincidence...yet I cannot understand their purpose.” Sherlock drifted off into his thoughts.  
“I think we must wait my friend.” he said to Watson.  
“I believe our picture is becoming clearer, yet not clear enough for us to see just yet. For now we shall head back home, make a pot of tea and think this over, for this case becomes stranger and more interesting with every new advancement!”  
Sherlocked turned to Lestrade, “I assume that the autopsy will show was we presume, let me know regardless.”  
The two men hunched their shoulders, pulled their coats up to their ears and went out of the house and into the cold fall night.

 

********

“Movement in Shadows, see the phenomenon Devil’s Watch perform Shadow acrobatics” Sherlock read aloud. Watson smiled and said “I did not take you for the sort of person that enjoys those types of theatrical acts”. “Well, Watson I believe that this show is related to the case we are investigating”.  
Sherlock handed Watson a ticket to the acrobatic exhibition; he put on his black coat and walked out of the apartment door. “Are you coming?” asked Sherlock impatiently. Watson looked at the ticket for a short moment and then followed Sherlock.  
After a short introduction, the scene was quiet. Suddenly they heard the fluttering of what seems like wings, and three shadowy figures suddenly appeared and began moving swiftly. They kept appearing and then disappearing into the shadows of the dimly lit scene, while flawlessly performing advanced acrobatics. Watson looked amazed and whispered to Sherlock “How are they doing it?”. There was no response. Watson looked around, there was no one sitting next to him. Now the three shadowy figures were all of a sudden six.  
Sherlock returned to his seat with a serious expression on his face. “Where did you go?” whispered Watson, sounding upset. “We need to leave now.” Sherlock said. Watson began to protest, but Sherlock insisted. After leaving the exhibition, Sherlock explained that he had snuck backstage and found not a pair of boots. These boots were the exact same size and had the exact same prints as the ones found at the murder scenes.  
“On top of that,” Sherlock continued, “There were bags of blood, some filled, others empty.” “The killer must have been part of the act.” Sherlock said. “We know that the victims were both in hard to reach places, if not impossible. These performers and not only incredible acrobatics, but seem to be able to move from place to place in impossible ways.”  
“Finally,” Sherlock added, “They both died from loss of blood, and coincidentally, here we find bags of blood.” “I believe like our case is taking a turn for the darker, Watson. Into an area that I had not before considered to even exist.”  
As the two men were walking down the narrow streets to Baker Street, they heard footsteps behind them. Sherlock turned around and gazed down the alleyway, straining his eyes, but there was nothing. Suddenly a bat screeched and flew over their heads, causing Watson to jump in surprise. The two men looked at each other, then down the quiet alley again, and turned around and headed home.

 

 

Chapter 4

The next day Sherlock and Watson were sitting around the breakfast table eating nothing but bread and butter with some tea.  
¨This has to stop, Watson said. We need something else then only bread to survive, I’m going down to the market to see if there’s anything cheap enough for my wallet.¨  
Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully, not saying a thing.  
¨I know you sometimes don’t eat for days, Watson said irritably, but some of us are not of that nature.¨  
¨You’re quite right so, Sherlock responded, with a neutral face. Let’s go, walking the streets here might give us some new perspective of things I might have missed.¨  
They arrived at the closest vegetable stall market.  
¨Wouldn’t it been better to go to the closest grocery store, Watson said.¨  
¨We’re not here for food, Sherlock replied in a low manner. Come along John, there is someone here we should meet.¨  
Moving through the stalls with Sherlock guiding towards the right one, they soon found themselves on the outskirts of the market. Sherlock strode confidently right up to the stall keeper, not stopping until he was towering over him a few centimeters away.  
¨ Hello¨, Sherlock said, smiling down on the stall keeper.  
¨Can I help you with anything¨, the stall keeper replied, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.  
Watson noticed he was speaking with a slight eastern European accent.  
“Yes.” Sherlock replied, grabbing his right hand and putting it on the stall for Watson to see.  
Watson quickly noticed, and quickly analyzed mark he had seen on the man’s wrist. It was a brand mark. The salesman stood a few seconds in shock, before he caught up to the situation and retracted his hand.  
“What is the meaning of this?” he cried out with a sudden very pale look on his face.  
“You can start off by telling us about those letters branded onto the back of your hand.” Dr Watson said.  
“Why should I trust you people?” he exclaimed.  
“We’re with the Scotland Yard, and we’re working on a double homicide involving two doctors who regularly worked abroad in Hungary.” Sherlock replied.  
The man looked as he was having an inner battle before he had made up his mind.  
“I actually acquired this mark in Hungary. I worked for a cult syndicate, and my favour with them ran out.” he said, before becoming hesitant again.  
“Go on.” Watson encouraged him.  
The stall owner looked from side to side as to check if there was someone looking.  
“This brand is the mark of the dead man. I had.. A rough period in my life after them, but managed to escape here. He then took a strip of paper and wrote symbols on it.  
“What do these symbols mean? How can we read them?” asked Sherlock  
“This is not an alphabet, but a numeral system. It’s a way of writing code that this cult uses across countries. Each symbol has a numerical value to it. They write them in 3 sets of pairs that correspond their location by book, verse, and word number.”  
“Book and verse?” Sherlock asked with an inquisitive tone. “That sounds like The Bible.”  
“You are correct,” the man said, “they use the Bible, ironically enough…”  
“Why is that ironic?” asked Watson.  
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled up his sleeve to his shoulder and revealed two dot marks close to each other on the inside of his bicep.  
“This is how they mark their members, with a tattoo. Your doctors may have been working as illegal surgeons.” he said, shuddering as if recalling something horrible.  
“More importantly.” said Sherlock, "You have seen them here again, have you not?  
“Not the members, but I have seen their signs, on my walk to work, and in town.” The stall owner sat down and was looking into the air in front of him. As if in a state of shock.  
“Let’s leave John, we probably won’t get more details from the man in this state. I know where to look.” Sherlock said.  
“How so? He didn’t say anything about their activities here.” Watson asked him, 

“As always you see, but you do not observe Watson.” Sherlock said to him. “First he had quite a rather distinct smell coming from his clothes. The type you get if you’re living next door to an industrial factory. Secondly, the mud on his shoe suggests he lives within the southern London industrial area. He hasn’t had direct contact with the people, but seen their signs. This means it must be something else, writing on walls, or similar that he had seen in his surroundings. And that is what we will be looking for.”  
“Another thing,” Watson chipped in. “How did you know where to look for this man?”  
“Security footage,” Sherlock said, “Of the pub Gerald was in before he was murdered. It showed this man run out of the pub just after Gerald did. He saw the message, likely thought it was for him, and ran. It is seemingly unrelated to the murder, but indeed proves to play a substantial role in the case. In addition, contact Lestrade. We finally have a way of proving that the murder victims are connected. If I’m right both corpses should bare the same tattoos as the man in the market. This link will also prove my claim to the existence of an illegal underground organisation in London. Sherlock then proceeded with texting the details to the inspector for him to examine.¨

 

Watson and Sherlock hailed a cab and directed the driver towards the southern industrial end of London, near the paper factory. As they stepped out of the cab, Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose and said, “Aaah, can you smell that Watson? That’s the smell of sulfur dioxide, a chemical used in paper mills.”  
“Indeed I do smell it.” Watson coughed and covered his nose with a handkerchief from his coat. “It smells terrible!”  
“Quite right,” said Sherlock, covering his own nose. “This is the odour I picked up on the man at the market, it’s quite unique, wouldn’t you say?”  
“I would say so.” Watson said, slightly disgusted.  
“Let us split up. He mentioned that he had seen things around this area that reminded him of the underground gang. Keep your eyes open for anything that seems out of place for an industrial area.”  
The two men went separate ways, covering the grounds of the industrial area.  
In about an hour’s time they returned to where they had split up.  
“Have you found anything?” Sherlock asked Watson.  
“Not too much, except that around one abandoned warehouse, there were signs of people that I would have to guess were not industrial workers.” he replied.  
“What makes you say that?”  
“Well, there was an unusual amount of beer cans and cigarette butts scattered around the entrance. I know that it is quite common for the industrial worker to be a smoker, and to perhaps sneak a beer or two during work, but this was on much larger scale. This seemed like some sort of underground warehouse party. However, I do not see how this connects to our case.”  
“Yes, that alone is not much to go off of, but you see, on my patrol, I found a poster with two symbols from our code written at the top of it! The poster appears to be an invitation to a warehouse party in this area, and it’s tonight!”  
“Wonderful,” cried Watson, “We should return here tonight then.”  
“Absolutely,” said Sherlock.  
“Come Watson, let’s leave this foul smelling place and go home and make some dinner, so we have energy for our exciting evening tonight.”  
The two men left the industrial area and hailed a cab to drive them back to Baker Street. While in the cab Sherlock pulled out his phone as he received a new message from Lestrade. It read;¨ The tattoos match.¨

Chapter 5

Arriving in a subtle manner at the warehouse that night, they kept along the fences allowing them to stealthily make it up to the warehouse. As they closed in on it they could hear music being played as well as human voices, screaming and laughing from inside. They then stopped right outside one of the side entrances.  
“Doesn’t seem like there are any guards or lookouts.” Watson whispered to Sherlock right next to him.  
“Peculiar...one would think they’d have some sort of security.” Sherlock whispered back. He then opened the door slowly, just enough for him to enter, with Watson trailing in behind him.  
“Watson, look!” Sherlock shouted, tugging at Watson by his coat sleeve.  
“Aaah, quite some lovely ladies here tonight!” he shouted over relentless bassline, not breaking eye contact with an attractive woman walking towards him in the noisy crowd.  
“No, the stage! Look where the DJ is standing! Or rather, look behind him!” It took a moment before he really understood what he was seeing. It looked like decoration at first, but he saw then that, in giant letters behind the DJ, there was a text covering the entire wall, using the same symbols they had been given by the merchant in the square.  
“Ha!” Sherlock laughed, “Talk about hiding a tree in a forest. Who would actually pay any notice to that message? Watson, take a picture of it.”, Sherlock said. “We’ll look into what it means when we get back at Baker street.”  
Watson took up his cell phone and snapped a picture of the message.  
“Let’s head back.” Watson replied.

 

Back at Baker Street Watson was reading through a dusty bible at an intense pace, trying to decypher the message that he had copied down. After hours of reading, they heard someone at the door and Watson goes to answer. He greets two preachers at the door holding a splending looking bible.  
“Hello, how might I help you.”, Watson says?  
“ Hello, we are here to spread the word of god.”, the first preacher says.  
“We are here to spread god’s word of the inhuman evils which have plagued his servants for so long.”, the second preacher said.  
“Those who lurk in the shadows and suck the life from those whom they find themselves at odds with.”, the first preacher added.  
Confused Watson told them, “Sorry I am not interested in whatever you are offering.”.  
With a sly smile the first preacher replied, “Not now, but perhaps you will be one day.”.  
They left Watson with those final words and turned around with haste and walked away from the door. As they walked around the corner Watson noticed the bibles they held, each decorated with silver crosses.  
Watson turned around and found Sherlock standing a couple feet away leaning against the wall.  
Watson still confused by what he had just heard asked, “did you hear all of that?”.  
Sherlock replied, “Yes.”

While was Watson still confused, Sherlock turned and made his way back to the study room. He reopened the dusty old bible as he cracked a smile. He then sat down in his arm chair and began flipping through the pages, repeating the words “inhuman evils”. Sherlock was using the drawing that Watson had made of the photo he had taken back at the club . Once he stopped on a page he asked Watson to pass him the laptop. He then began typing a passage from the bible into the search engine and when he hit search, an image similar to the codes they were looking for popped up. The website that they had found it on was an old transylvanian vampire lore blog. Suddenly it all made sense to Sherlock and as he turned to Watson with a grim look. Sherlock began writing down the decypher and when he was done he looked at Watson with uncertainty in his gaze.. Watson began to understand what the preachers had been hinting at. Sherlock let out a slight whisper, “Vampires.”.

One million plus thirty units essence for the ruby tooth necklace. Bring it to us at the Haven warehouse. 

 

”We need to revisit the warehouse” Sherlock suggested. “I believe there is where we will find the murderer” Sherlock added. “We should call for backup in case of resistance” said Watson calmly. “You are absolutely right, Watson”. As Watson was calling Lestrade for the needed backup, Sherlock was preparing two revolvers. “Here, you should have this” said Sherlock, handing one of the revolvers to Watson. “I hope you still know how to use it” he added with smug smile on his face.  
Sherlock asked the cab driver to drop them off a block away from the warehouse. “You can never really get used to the smell” Watson said. “Indeed.” replied Sherlock. “Why did you tell the cabbie to drop us off so far away from the warehouse”. “You know my methods, Watson.” It was dark outside; the only source of light came from the full moon and some flickering lights on the sidewalk. As they got closer to the warehouse, shadow figures started to appear for short instances. It was as if someone was taunting them. “Did you see that?” exclaimed Watson. “Yes, I saw it.” Sherlock replied. The two men kept moving forward until the shadows around them moved as if they were alive. As Sherlock put his hand to his revolver, figures started to materialize in the from the shadows. Sherlock had his revolver readied now, pointing at a figure in front of him. First there was only one man standing in there, however, in a split second, more men appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. They all were wearing black coats that furled behind them, like black wings. They stood there in silence, watching each other. “Give us the second tooth necklace.” an eerie voice said. It seemed to come from all around them.  
“We don’t know what necklace you’re talking about!” Sherlock called back. The figure raised his arm revealing a gun in his hand. “Then you’ll die and we’ll feed upon your essence”¨, the figure hissed. Sherlock managed to grab Watson by his arm and pulled him behind a large container, just as a shot rang out.  
“It´s pointless hiding in the shadows, it’s where we live.” the voice hissed.  
To Sherlock’s and Watson’s relief, they heard police sirens and car tires screeching outside the warehouse. Backup had arrived, and police officers rushed into the building.  
“Halt!” One of the policemen shouted. “Put your guns down and your hands up!”  
The figures looked at each other, and then back to the police. They raised their guns, and a policeman shouted, “Open fire!” and all hell broke loose. The shots echoed in the dark warehouse. The light flashes from the barrels of the guns illuminating the scene like a strobe light. In the chaos, Watson saw both shadow figures and policemen get hit and fall to the ground.  
After about 30 seconds, but what seemed like several minutes, the shots died down and it was quiet again.  
“Status report!” cried an officer.  
“We have three officers shot, but it’s not life threatening!” came a voice. The officers who were hit were biting their teeth in pain, nursing a wound on their arms and legs. One of the had been hit in the chest, but his vest had stopped it.

Watson had walked towards the area where he had seen the shadow figures go down, but to his surprise, there were no bodies.  
“I don’t understand,” he called to Sherlock, “I saw with my own eyes, at least 3 of them get hit and fall, but there are no signs of them at all here.” By this time the lights had been switched on in the warehouse. They revealed exactly what Watson claimed. Nowhere in the building could a sign of the figures be found.  
“This is strange indeed.” Sherlock said, and as he spoke, they heard a screech and suddenly they were surrounded by a flock of bats all screaming and beating their wings furiously. Just as quickly as they had appeared, they flew out of the open door and into the night.  
Watson and Sherlock looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

 

Chapter 6

They went Back to Baker street where Sherlock, Watson and Lestrade sat down a moment in silence. “Okay,” Watson started. How about we sum up all that we know about this criminal organisation¨. Sherlock automatically took the lead just as expected.  
¨Two murders. Seemingly identical. All doors are locked and no signs of forced entry. The murderer possessed extreme acrobatic manoeuvring skills. Just as the ones we saw at the performance we visited. We also found bags of blood at that location. The perpetrators can vaporize and appear somewhere else. They can also shapeshift into what we believe are bats, which is how they entered the rooms through the small openings in the windows. Watson also saw several got shot and go down, but their bodies seemed to disappear. I don't believe they can be killed by our bullets."  
“Come off it, Sherlock," laughed Lestrade, "What kind of thing are you describing?”  
¨Vampires”, Watson said hesitantly. ¨I didn’t want to say it myself, but yes,” Sherlock replied. “If you take away all that is impossible and look at the facts, no matter how improbable, it must be the truth.  
“May I have a look at this picture you got from the underground party,” Lestrade asked. “Perhaps there are some people Scotland Yard recognizes from their earlier records.”  
Watson took his cell phone out from his pocket and gave it to Inspector Lestrade. ¨How odd, he said with a confused look on his face as he examined the photo. You were saying there were a lot of people at this place, but I can’t see anyone at all in the picture.¨  
¨What?” said Watson. "How is that possible? The place was full of people!"  
"I don't think they were people at all." Sherlock replied, snatching the phone to see for himself. “Oh my, Inspector, seems we have a situation here significantly graver than what I imagined. We do in fact have a large vampire problem in London.”

 

 

Epilogue  
She came in to work the next morning, as she always had. She greeted the guards at the door and stepped inside the Crimsonheart clinic. It was bittersweet to be back, she had lost her true love, but she had to keep going. She had called in sick with the common flu after she had found out that he was dead. Terrence Chamberlain was always kind to her.  
She choose to take the steps to her desk outside what had been Mr. Chamberlain’s office as to avoid chatting with anybody she might have found in the lift. When she reached her desk she took her coat off and hung it on the coat hanger on the wall just inside the room. She then walked over to the desk and grabbed her name tag which she stored inside the top drawer. When she had pinned her name tag, which read Abigail, to her chest, she remembered what he had told her “Be careful about wearing your necklace to work.”. She grasped the ruby necklace he had given her and let out a sigh. She whispered his name “Terrence” one last time, and hid the necklace inside the bottom desk drawer. A man then stepped out of what had been Mr. Chamberlain’s office. The man said, “Hi, I’m Jeffery. I have filled Mr. Chamberlain’s vacant position. I have a meeting at 5 could you please remind me?”. With a faint smile she replied, “Yes, sir.”. As she returned to her duties. She sat down at her desk, with only a brief moment of rest, until there was a knock on the door. ¨Did you miss anything?¨, she asked not looking up.¨Seems I did.” Sherlock responded as he entered. “Hello again, Abigail.”


End file.
